Zuleika's Creed
by Lei-lassassin
Summary: Set five years before the game Assassin's Creed, we follow the story of Leilah. When granted her wish to be an assassin, she struggles with her new life, haunted by dreams of gold light and blue mist. Is a world dominated by men too much for a mere woman?
1. Prologue

_A note from the author:_

_Hello, dear readers._

_You may have glanced at this story for the first time, or maybe you've been reading this with every update for the last two years. Either way, I've removed all the chapters and am rewriting every single one of them. This story, if it could even be called that, is so awful, so badly written and clichéd, that I couldn't bear to update it any longer. So I'm redoing everything into something I could call 'acceptable.'_

_Each chapter will be uploaded again when I consider it ready. Some things will be cut; some elements will be added. I'm even changing Leilah's name. Her appearance will remain pretty much the same, though, as I had explanation for that originally anyway._

_Read along if you want or wait until the new chapter is finally uploaded. When the story is at the point where I can continue it, I will entitle the chapter 'Story Continued…'_

_Lance~_

* * *

**Prologue**

In the dark of the night, there stood a woman. Her long, black hair was scooped up into a tight knot at the back of her head, keeping it out of her dark brown eyes. Her skin was dark, too; smooth and clear, reflecting her youth. She wore simple peasant's clothes, which were smeared with the blood of life as she held a newborn child in her arms.

The babe bawled as the woman tried to soothe it, casting wary glances at the mother lying motionless on the floor. Her eyes were wide but unseeing, her blonde hair clumped together with sweat. Her chest did not rise with breath and she did not stir when called to. She was dead.

"Nahlah!"

Nahlah jumped, nearly dropping the child in her arms as another villager appeared at her doorway.

"I heard screams. Are you…" the man's voice trailed off as he stared in horror at the scene before him. "What in God's name has happened here?"

Nahlah said nothing, merely calming the baby until it fell silent. When all was quiet, she looked up at the man.

"I found her…this woman," Nahlah said, nodding her head towards the dead woman on the floor. "She was outside the village, lost and starving. She's not from these lands; I could not understand a single word from her lips. I took her in and she wrote a letter…and then…and then…"

Nahlah glanced down to the baby instead of finishing her sentence. The man moved towards the woman on the floor, and then hesitated before stepping back.

"Is she…?"

"Yes."

The room was silent, save the child snuffling slightly. The man sighed.

"What will you do with that?" he said, waving a hand towards the baby in her arms. Nahlah scowled.

"She is not a 'that!'" she replied, her voice sharp. The baby whined and Nahlah lowered her voice. "I will keep her. She will be my daughter."

"Better to leave her in the wilderness to die," the man muttered. "You know recent events will cause suspicion and rejection."

"I will not kill a babe, Fadi," Nahlah hissed quietly, "and you should not suggest as such. Is it her fault the crusaders invade our land in search of their false god? No, it is not, and I beg of you to see what see is: an innocent child."

"Well then, perhaps we should take her to Al Mualim to see if what he thinks. It is his land, his fortress; we are here by his grace alone."

Nahlah sighed. She knew Fadi was right, but fear held her back. The Wise Woman had predicted she would never be able to have her own child. If the assassin Master took away her chance to be a mother, her heart would break.

She looked now at the girl in her arms and smiled. The newborn was still bloody, but underneath the red was a sign of fair skin. Upon her head, a small amount of fuzzy baby hair. It was impossible to tell what colour, as it was matted and stained dark. Her eyes were shut tight, to Nahlah's disappointment. She wanted to see what colour they were.

"Yes, we will go to Al Mualim," Nahlah said finally. "And I pray he will be merciful."

* * *

Al Mualim peered at the child with mild interest. The origins of the baby had been explained in great detail by the young woman before him, her features filled with hope. He smiled kindly at her. The mother was dead, the father nowhere to be seen. The mother could be buried and the child would live, so long as no relative came to claim her and caused trouble.

"You may keep the child," Al Mualim said finally. Fadi scowled whilst Nahlah cried with joy, jolting the newborn and causing her to cry. While she settled her new daughter down, the assassin master signalled to two of his men.

"There is the body of a woman in one of the village houses. This man will take you to it. Remove the body and bring it to be prepared for burial."

If Fadi was unhappy at the order, he did not show it. Instead he merely nodded to assassin and beckoned them to follow him. When only Nahlah and Al Mualim were left alone, he spoke to her again.

"In return for this, I wish for the girl to serve in the fortress when she is able. Do you agree?"

Nahlah nodded frantically, a big smile on her face.

"Then you may go."

"Thank you, Master, oh, thank you!" she gushed, before hurrying away down the steps and outside to the fortress grounds.

* * *

The baby cried while Nahlah washed her in a bucket of cold water she had retrieved from the well. The body of the girl's mother had long since been moved, but the blood remained. Nahlah would clean it away when her daughter had been settled to sleep.

Nahlah dried the baby with an old dress of hers and then bundled the girl up in it to keep her warm. The baby opened her eyes and looked at Nahlah for the first time. She felt as if she would burst with love.

"Beautiful girl, you need a name," Nahlah whispered, whilst her child yawned, staring at her with grey irises. "You will take my name, Seif, but what of your birth name? Shall I name you for your fairness? Shall I call you Zuleika?"

Nahlah paused and then shook her head.

"A pretty pet name, perhaps, but not fitting, no."

She glanced around, noting that despite the candles, the room was nearly black. The door of her home was open, revealing the starless night. No moon was present and the air was heavy, giving a sense of the forbidden.

"Born from darkness into darkness," Nahlah said finally, holding up her child to the candle so she could see her better. The baby shut her eyes and recoiled from the light, disliking the sudden change. Nahlah considered this for a moment and then moved to a darker corner of the room. The child seemed to relax and opened her eyes again.

"Born from darkness into darkness," Nahlah repeated. "You are a child of shadow; dark as night despite your complexion. Dark as night..."

Nahlah held the child to her breast, comforted by her warmth. She had decided on a name.

"Leilah."


	2. The Lion and the Lamb

**The Lion and the Lamb**

"Seif!"

Leilah stood to attention, watching the assassin carefully as he approached her. His name was Malik – a constant thorn in her side, even though she knew it was just his job. He once made her scrub the floors of the fortress twice over because she had been late. The other maids turned their heads to watch the show, as Malik had no qualms about humiliating her publically. It was perhaps lucky that Malik was softer than some of the other assassins, as it allowed her to give him the occasional bit of cheek, though she always got a slap for it.

While the other women cowered away from the assassins, Leilah sometimes couldn't hold her tongue, and so would receive harsh punishments as her reward. She knew she was being ungrateful and childish, but she found she just couldn't stop herself. Nahlah despaired when she returned home covered in bruises and told her to remember who she was.

"A woman," Leilah would reply, ashamed that she brought her mother such grief.

"Aye, a woman," her mother would say back, shaking her head and scowling. "And such insolence is not allowed."

Leilah tried to keep this in mind as Malik stood in front of her, bellowing. But it was hard to resist bringing shame upon herself and Nahlah, even if she always regretted it afterwards. She hated how the men could do as they please, whilst the women were their servants. She despised how men could choose what they wanted to be, while women had to know their place and stay at home.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Malik grabbed her arm and shook her. She snapped out of her daydream and yanked her arm away from him immediately, before realising what she had done. The assassin stared at her for a moment, and then raised his hand as if he was about to hit her. To her shame, Leilah cowered, waiting for the blow that never arrived.

"You _will_ learn manners and you _will_ learn to arrive on time," Malik growled, slowly lowering his arm. Leilah stared at the ground fixatedly, her pride stinging. She clenched her teeth to stop herself from reacting, cursing her own inability to keep in her place.

"I apologise, Master," she said stiffly, finally raising her head to look Malik in the eye. The other girls had turned their gaze to the ground to avoid Malik's wrath. Displaying such an interest in matters that did not concern them was frowned upon and they did not want to be next in line.

"Then do not let it happen again," Malik replied. "Now go to the kitchens and help keep it clean."

Leilah groaned inwardly but kept her face blank. She despised working in the kitchens and he knew it. When the overweight, warty cook wasn't berating her for being so pale and – as she put it – washed out, she was telling Leilah she was too thin and slopping food and waste on the freshly cleaned floor. The smoke from the open hearth on which food was cooked also made the room unbearably hot and hard to breathe. Leilah felt dizzy just thinking about it.

"Malik!"

Both Malik and Leilah glanced sharply up to the source of the voice. In the doorway stood a new, taller figure, and although the bright sunlight behind them made them little more than a black silhouette, Leilah could see they were heavily armed. The stranger stepped forward into the room, revealing themselves as a young, male assassin. Leilah recognised him instantly. It was—

"Altair!" Malik cried cheerfully, striding over to his friend and pulling him into a tight embrace. The newcomer looked slightly displeased at the outward display of affection, patting Malik awkwardly on the back. The two finally broke apart.

"I see you are still keeping the maids in line," Altair remarked, ignoring the women present. Leilah felt a slight twinge of irritation flare up inside her, but stayed silent.

"Aye, brother," Malik sighed, looking weary. "I hoped I would be given new duties soon but I am still burdened with this tiring task."

"I've been given watch duty tonight at the lookout point." Altair patted Malik's shoulder sympathetically. "Worry not, brother. I am sure Al Mualim will entrust you with different work."

"I hope so, too," Malik sighed. Then he realised Leilah was staring at them. "Seif, do not gawk. I gave you an order. To the kitchens with you!"

Leilah bowed and scurried away.

* * *

"You, girl!" the cook barked, her many chins wobbling. "You missed a spot!"

Leilah sighed. She had just scrubbed that spot moments ago, but juice of meat dripping as it was placed into the pot over the fire had since settled there, mocking her efforts. She inched forwards on her hands and knees towards the blazing hearth, sweat trickling down from her forehead as the heat increased, and did her best to mop up the mess.

As the temperature rose, she thought of Altair and thus her temper rose, too. She remembered the day he joined the brotherhood. She was young, but such intense feelings of hatred kept one's memory fresh against the tides of age. He had been brought into the village as a child, not much older than her, with an assassin she did not know. Altair had clung to the horse rider, pale and withdrawn, clearly traumatised by something, and Leilah wondered if he was another servant. She would have liked a new friend to play with. Leilah had asked Nahlah as such in a loud voice, tugging on her mother's dress as she did. Nahlah had hushed her, crouching down and clamping a hand over her little girl's mouth.

"That is a new recruit," Nahlah whispered so that the assassin and the boy would not hear her. "The lad is here to join the brotherhood. You must pay him great respect."

Leilah said nothing else, her child's mind knowing enough that silence was better than speaking the alternative, in this case. She did not think much of the little boy that she now had to give her respect. Most likely he would not pass training, or if he did, he would die soon after in his early missions. Many others had agreed with her, the other assassins being the most outspoken about it. She heard them as she worked throughout her childhood, muttering about Altair, the child who should not be here. Then they would notice Leilah blatantly listening in instead of doing her duties and punish her as they saw fit.

For a while, Leilah felt kinship with Altair, even if she had never spoken to him. No one believed he was capable and that he should be here, and many rumours circulated him about his family, though in hushed voices so the servants could not hear. Leilah, in her early years, had often been shunned by the other villagers for her difference of appearance. Not that she blamed them. She was unusual, and from what she had heard of the Crusades that had long since ended, they had every right to reject her presence. Both Altair and herself were the outcasts of Masyaf.

It all changed, eventually. As Leilah matured the others grew used to her; she became one of them, regardless of how she looked. For Altair, too, things changed. He passed his training much quicker than expected and became a proper assassin. Leilah had watched him leave the fortress, his hand bloody, and scowled as he dripped it all over her clean floor. Not that she could say anything to him about it, of course. So she merely watched him go, and then cleaned up the blood, getting it all over her hands and then wiping it on her clothes. That night, when she returned home, Nahlah was hysterical, thinking she had injured herself somehow. It took much to eventually calm her mother down.

"Oh, child!" Nahlah had said breathlessly, clutching Leilah to her breast. "When I saw the blood I had feared the worst! I thought you had finally said too much!"

"Mother," Leilah said, her voice muffled from being pressed into Nahlah's body, "I know when to stop. I am not stupid."

"Girl," Nahlah replied fondly, "you are full of foolishness. Next I know you will be running off to join the brotherhood yourself!"

Nahlah released her daughter and laughed loudly, amused by her own joke. Leilah, however, said nothing. Nahlah's words struck a chord in her, unlocked a desire she had not known existed. She considered the idea while her mother laughed. When all was quiet again and Nahlah had returned to the stew upon the fire, Leilah looked up and spoke.

"Mother...would they accept women in the brotherhood?"

Nahlah flinched and dropped the cutlery she was holding, before turning sharply to face Leilah.

"No! Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Because..."

"You are not thinking of asking, are you?"

"I see no reason not to. I cannot for the life of me understand why women sh-"

"Because it is not allowed!" Nahlah said angrily, her face now flushed red. "And if you do ask, then that is exactly what they will take from you: your life! Now enough. Help me with the stew; we shall talk no more of idle fancies."

Leilah had realised then the matter could not be pressed further, and so begrudgingly helped her mother prepare their meal for the night. The thought of assassins never left her, though, and that night and for years to come she held onto the hope that one day she would wear their uniform. As her desire to become a killer deepened, so did her jealousy for the other assassins, those who were given their chance simply because they were male. She lost some of her respect for them and her tongue became more daring, sharper, getting her into trouble nearly every day.

Most of all, though, her jealousy for the new assassin, the man who was nothing but a bag of bones when he arrived, increased. It changed, becoming twisted and warped as he rose through the ranks, until one day she found she was no longer jealous of him. She hated him.

Altair.

Altair, Altair, Altair.

How she longed to sink a blade into his heart.

"Girl!"

Leilah was snapped out of her thoughts of the past and found she was shaking with fury over the injustice of her person. So she was a woman? Why could she not learn how to fight?

"Girl, are you listening to me?" the cook bellowed, making her jump.

"Yes, cook," Leilah replied, scrubbing the floor harder.

"You can go now, girl. I am finished for the day."

Leilah stood up quickly, grateful to be able to escape from the dreaded kitchens and left. It was nearly nightfall now and Leilah could see stars beginning to emerge as she jogged down back down to her home. Nahlah waited at the door of their run-down home, hands on hips. Leilah knew she was about to be lectured and could feel shame and guilt burning up inside her for bringing grief to her mother.

As Leilah reached the door, Nahlah began to scold her daughter, raising her hand as if to hit her. Leilah flinched even though her mother had not touched her. She stared at the floor, deciding it was better to think of the night ahead rather than listen. Her heart beat began to quicken at the thought and had to bite her lip to resist smiling. Nahlah was irritated enough already. Appearing to smirk would result in being forced to her bed with no evening meal. However, the darkness called gently to her soul, beckoning her to it.

* * *

Feet pounded against the earth, sending up a flurry of dust with each determined step. The owner of them sped across the empty, mountainous landscape, arms pumping as she ran. Her breath was heavy; her brow slick with sweat. Sand that drifted too high stuck fast to her damp skin, trapped. Red soaked her clothes and splattered up her arms and across her face. The old knife in her hand, dripping scarlet suggested the blood was not her own, though.

Leilah slowed down to a jog, wincing as her sandals rubbed uncomfortably. They had been a gift from her mother recently and yet already they were nearly worn out. The straps were frayed to the point of breaking, the result of uncountable nights out in the wilderness, running.

Her destination loomed ahead of her: Fool's Rock. It was aptly named by the villagers, for it was a vertical pillar of stone reaching up high to the stars; only the brave or foolish dared to climb it. Leilah liked to think herself as 'brave', although she knew her mother would happily disagree.

Gritting her teeth in determination, Leilah sprinted for the final stretch towards the rock and stopped at its base, catching her breath. She glanced up at the towering edifice and inhaled deeply before taking hold of the first crack her fingers could find. As she pulled herself up and her hands searched for another ledge to grip, her feet scrabbled at the rock face for a natural foothold. She located one and then hesitated, aware that it was most dangerous task she had ever considered.

Her wavering of resolve lasted only a few moments. An assassin's life was filled with peril; if she shied away now, she would merely prove to herself that she would never be worthy of the brotherhood.

Throwing her body up to the next handhold with a grunt of effort, Leilah made up her mind that she would not return home until she had reached the top.

For what seemed like an age, she struggled up the rock, her arms feeling like they were about to give way. Yet she was certain she had almost reached the top. Excitement surged through her body, despite the slight niggling concern on how she was going to get back down again. Leilah could deal with that when the time came. For now, she had to focus on the goal; it was better than concentrating on the great fall that awaited her if she made a mistake and slipped.

The sky opened up to her as she reached the pinnacle and she began to drag herself up onto the top shelf with a victorious smile.

_A sudden movement, a flash of steel; a blade was at her throat._

Leilah barely had time to register the shock on her attacker's face before the weapon was pulled away and a hand was around her neck, dragging her up. She tried to scream, but found all sound and air cut off by her powerful attacker. She tried to thrash and found it hurt her throat. Afraid of breaking her neck, all she could do was swing helplessly in the man's grasp. It was then that Leilah noticed his appearance, though she could not see his face. Beautiful white robes with a splash of red silk at the waist. A set of ice cold eyes gleamed from the depths of the concealing hood.

Her insides froze. An assassin. Leilah knew she was going to die.

"Why are you here?" he asked. Leilah recognised his quiet voice instantly. It was Altair.

Choking sounds were all that escaped her lips. The assassin stepped back and lowered her to the ground so that he could loosen his grip safely. Leilah gasped, tasting the sweet air with relief, but still aware that he had a firm grip on her throat. She swallowed, trying to collect herself, and then yelped when he gave her a quick shake to hurry her up.

"I-I am here because I w-wished to climb," she replied, trying and failing to keep her words from trembling.

"Where are you from?" he demanded.

"The village of Masyaf."

"Your parents?"

"Nahlah Seif. I have no father."

"I know of you. The adopted mongrel."

"Leilah Seif," Leilah replied sharply, fear momentarily forgotten. A trace of amusement became visible on his shadowed features.

"You are fiery, girl." He considered her for a moment, staring directly into her grey eyes. "You are also afraid."

"I am not afraid," she lied.

"The rapid pulse beneath my fingers suggests otherwise."

Leilah winced, deciding to ignore his comment. "I merely wonder if you will kill me or have me executed."

"That depends entirely on your reasons for being here," the assassin replied coldly. "Why are you here? Even the stupid keep away from Fool's Rock; it is a death trap."

"I know." Leilah tried to steady her breathing. "I wanted to climb it to prove I could."

"Prove to whom?"

"Myself."

Altair's brow furrowed. The girl was indeed strange, and the temptation to simply throw her off the rock and blame her death on the fall was fading. Fool's Rock had been an assassin watch point for years now, and the Brotherhood did their best to circulate rumours that all who climbed it perished. This made it easier when an overly curious peasant or outsider made it to the top. A simple push and the secret was safe. The rumours of death would be reinforced, meaning others would be less willing to scale it. Altair had thrown many off the top before, but never a woman. No woman had every tried, let alone made it to the top. It was probably the only reason why he hadn't killed the girl the moment she had become visible.

There had been rumours circulating for some time over 'the mongrel', as the other assassins called her. Some said she was cursed and that her pale skin showed she belonged to a demon, feeding it blood in return for protection. Others claimed they had seen her out in the wild, killing and running like a savage. Her bloodstained clothes certainly indicated that either rumour could be true.

"Why is there blood on your clothes?" Altair asked her after a long moment of silence.

"I kill animals at night," she replied sullenly.

"Why?"

"For training."

"...Training?" The mongrel was becoming more and more intriguing by the second.

"Yes, training. I wish...I wish to be an assassin."

A more outgoing man may have burst into laughter at such a comment. Only the slightest of smiles crept onto Altair's lips.

"You managed to scale to the top of our watch point," the assassin mused. He let her go, and she glanced over her shoulder as she stepped back, rubbing her sore neck."That is commendable, at the very least."

He looked her over again, noting how she was much more muscular than the average woman and didn't seem to care for her own appearance. Dirt and blood smeared her cheeks, she wore no jewellery, and her hair was tangled and full of grit and twigs. She also didn't cover her hair. Either she had lost her shawl or she didn't wear one regularly.

"Are you religious?" he asked, curious. Leilah shook her head.

"My mother is, but not I. I dress appropriately for her sake, but out here, I see little need to pretend."

Altair nodded in approval. He, too, cared little for religion.

Leilah checked for the edge of the cliff, sensing her welcome was on the brink of being overstayed. It was time to climb back down. She turned back to the assassin.

"I will become an assassin," she said softly. "I swear it to you."

"With no instructor?" he sneered, then froze. Leilah tried to speak, but he raised a hand to silence her. Suddenly, Altair heard a noise from below and looked over his shoulder, focusing into the darkness.

"What is it?" Leilah whispered as a bow twanged in the distance.

"Down!" he hissed as he grabbed her and pulled her sharply to the floor. The knife in her belt came free as an arrow shot to the place where her head had been moments ago. Leilah barely noticed this, however; she simply cried out as her metal companion clattered over the cliff side, tumbling away into the gloom, lost forever.

"Stay here," Altair whispered, before rolling over and clambering down towards the attackers. For a long time, there was nothing but silence. Then the screams began. For an age, pain and horror echoed all around Leilah and she huddled into a little ball, covering her ears and waiting for it all to stop.

As quickly as the noise started, it stopped.

The atmosphere was as quiet as the grave and Leilah waited for the assassin to return and tell her that it was safe to go. She lay on the stone shelf for hours, the feeling of dread increasing with each passing minute. Eventually, dawn broke and shafts of orange and yellow highlighted the pinnacle of Fool's Rock.

Altair did not return in that time.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter has been re-rewritten to update the canon points of Altair's life revealed in Assassin's Creed: Revelations...and also because I hated certain aspects of what I had written. More to follow in the upcoming chapters._

_P.S. The chapter title has nothing to do with Twilight. God, how I hate that series.  
_

_Lance~_


	3. The Master of the Halls

**The Master of the Halls**

Hooves clopped lazily against the scattered pebbles in the sand as a bay stallion slowly made its way towards the lookout point. The rider, Abbas, squinted as the strong morning sun filtered into the gorge he was passing through, its rays only partially blocked out by the high walls of rugged rock. Altair would meet him along the path shortly to switch the night watch for the day.

The assassin could see a figure in the distance walking towards him, small and huddled. At first, he assumed it was his friend, but then noted that they were far too short and petite to be Altair. Abbas dug his heels into the horse's side and brought the animal into a brisk trot.

"Who goes there?" he cried as he drew near. The figure looked up and for a moment, he thought he had stumbled across a vengeful spirit: pale and covered in blood. Then he recognised her as one of the peasants from the village; he cursed his superstitious nature and slowed to a standstill as she approached.

"Why are you out here, girl?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Your brother, Altair, is injured," she said, clutching at his leg, "stabbed in the night by attackers. I have bound his wounds as best I can, but I fear he will not last if he is not returned to Masyaf soon."

Questions quickly arose in Abbas' mind: why was she here? Why hadn't she been attacked? How badly hurt was his friend?

The assassin quickly pushed such questions away and nodded. Fool's Rock was not far now.

"Climb onto the saddle," he commanded. The servant girl shook her head, biting her lip as she eyed the beast he rode nervously.

"I will run to him," she insisted, turning and sprinting away before Abbas could protest. He marvelled at the speed of her and then shook his head; there were more important matters at hand. Spurring the stallion on, the horse and rider quickly followed the girl.

The landscape became a blur as he cantered after the servant, who had already forged quite a way ahead. Dust swirled up behind him as the beast worked its way towards the guide and light flickered overhead through the cracks in the natural, stone walls towering above them, silent guardians of the brotherhood.

As the servant ran ahead, only one thought was present in her mind: why was she doing this?

Shaking her head, she continued on, casting her mind back to the events of the morning as a distraction from the blazing heat.

* * *

Leilah's skin began to burn as the fierce sun began to creep over the horizon. Pain seared through her, her fair complexion unable to cope with the attacking light, and yet she dared not move. There was a chance attackers from last night were still present, just waiting for any hiding witnesses to reveal themselves...

It was a foolish thought and she was aware as much, yet fear gripped at her and held her in her place. She was more afraid of death now than she ever had been before and shielded her face from the sun with her reddened arms, curled up in a ball on top of Fool's Rock.

A thought occurred to her. It was not a pleasant one.

"What is this?" she hissed to herself, anger interrupting instincts. "You have always been held in your place by man! Now you have a chance to show your worth, you cower like another weak and feeble woman? Stand up!"

Her own words coursed through her and for a moment, she felt ready to face anything. But she remembered the screams of the night and her stomach churned. There was a twitch of her fingers and little else. Leilah despaired and tried again.

"Stand up!" she commanded, louder this time. If there was anyone lurking at the bottom of Fool's Rock, they would have almost certainly heard her. This in itself was an incentive. Trembling, Leilah slowly unfolded her arms away from her head and rolled onto her front, pushing herself onto her knees. She crawled forward and peered over the edge of the rocky pillar, the height making her head spin slightly.

The ground was littered with the bodies of men, dressed in similar, poor clothes that suggested they were a small band of vagrants. They were all dead.

Leilah squinted and glanced about. Had Altair left her here?

Just then, she spotted a white figure propped up against a rock not far from Fool's Rock, a trail of red leading to it. It was the assassin and – judging by the streak of red he had left behind – he was wounded.

She needed to help him!

However, as soon as the words entered her head, she began to question them. She hated him, he who was lucky enough to be an assassin. Now here he was, injured and alone. She could leave him for the vultures. She would gain nothing but the small amount of satisfaction that the assassins were not the all-powerful gods they pretended to be, but humans who died because a woman had not saved them. It was more than enough.

Of course, she could always kill him herself. No doubt, one of the attackers had dropped a sword or a knife. She could easily slip it between Altair's ribs. Al Mualim's Red Feather – his new favourite pupil – killed by a mere servant girl! The prospect was laughable...and highly appealing. No one would ever know she did it. The vagrants would be blamed and everyone would forget about it. It would be her beautiful, bloody secret.

With the murderous thought in mind, Leilah tentatively made her way down Fool's Rock, discovering that climbing up was almost simple in comparison with climbing down. More than once, she missed a foothold and nearly plummeted to her death, before managing to catch herself at the last second. When her feet rested firmly on solid ground, she breathed a sigh of relief, resisting the urge to kiss the sweet earth that held her safely.

A wicked grin on her face, she strode over to the assassin, who was slumped against a boulder, deathly still. In one swift movement, she scooped a nearby blade off the floor and raised it above her head, ready to strike. Leilah paused, hesitating at the thought of killing another person. Last night she had been devastated when she had believed she'd pulled him off the cliff; was she ready for this?

Her eyes settled on Altair's hand and she winced. A finger was missing – the assassins removed it themselves as a sign of loyalty and honour. Leilah glanced at the sword she still held high. She was killing an unconscious man instead of fighting him fairly. Where was her honour now?

With a grimace, Leilah lowered her arm and dropped the blade. She knew she would never be able to fight Altair and win, but she could not kill him in such a lowly way. He had earned his honour with the removal of his own finger. What right did she have to deny him a proper death?

Crouching down, Leilah inspected Altair's features instead. She had to admit, he was handsome, and despite years of training and fighting, had no blemishes on his face. He had only a small amount of stubble on his jaw line, which was strange. Most men had a beard, although Malik was another exception to this trend.

Leilah sighed. Altair had saved her life the previous night, pushing her out of the way of an arrow. Maybe it had just been instinct, not on purpose, but it didn't matter. She had to return the favour and help him.

Upon inspecting his bloodstained tunic, Leilah discovered a sizable stab wound through his side. She had no idea how he had survived so long, but he was still breathing, though faintly. Leilah removed his hood and took the sword she had discarded earlier, hacking through the material until it was in strips, and then set to work binding the injury so it would slow the loss of blood. The white did not take long to turn red. It was obvious she would not be able to move him herself, given that he was taller than her. She would have to run back to the village and hope she encountered other assassins to help her.

Standing up, Leilah pulled a face at the fresh blood the assassin had left on her clothes. Then, tucking her hair behind her ears and smearing red across her face, she set off into a run down the beaten path back to Masyaf.

* * *

"Altair?"

The word broke through the black of Altair's world, dragging him from the dark. He opened his eyes with difficulty, wincing as the light stung them. Memories of fighting sprang to mind and the assassin turned sharply, looking for his sword. A deep burning shot through Altair's right side and he groaned with agony, clutching at the source of the pain.

"Don't try to move. You were wounded."

Altair gritted his teeth and then glanced up at the speaker.

"Malik?" The assassin felt calmer now that he knew he was with a friend. He studied his surroundings, finally realising that he was in his quarters in the brotherhood fortress. "How did I get here?"

"Abbas found you by Fool's Rock after a small group of bandits tried to..." Malik paused. "Well, we're not sure yet. All we know is you killed all of them. A servant girl bound your wounds, led Abbas to you, and helped you on his horse. She refused to ride with him, though, so he left her behind."

Altair thought on this, trying to remember if there had been a girl with him the previous night. A pale face drifted into his mind. "Another joined me unexpectedly at the lookout point. I nearly killed her, mistaking her for an enemy. It was the mongrel."

"Seif?" Malik didn't bother to hide the surprise in his voice. "What in God's name was she doing there with you? Was she with the bandits?"

"No." Altair recalled her stubborn vow to him and found himself tempted to smirk. And yet she had kept from sight, found help, saved his life...

Malik sat on a chair opposite his friend's bed. "Tell me your thoughts, brother."

"She..." Altair paused, trying to word it without sounding absurd. He failed. "She was 'training' herself and decided to climb Fool's Rock to test herself. She wants to be an assassin."

Malik burst into laughter, before noticing Altair remained silent. "Surely you did not take her seriously? She is just a woman."

"A determined woman who climbed down from the lookout point by herself and helped me when she could have ran," Altair replied coolly. "I may find the idea of a female assassin to be distasteful, but she certainly shows more promise than a normal girl."

"You _did _take her seriously!" Malik looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned. "Perhaps your injuries are worse than apparent at first glance."

"Make no mistake," Altair snapped, cheeks flushing red, "I think she is a fool to become so wrapped up in ridiculous hopes...nothing good will ever come of her."

Malik sat back in the chair nodding, satisfied with the answer. Altair meanwhile pondered. Would it be so bad to have a female assassin? Everything he had ever been taught, every fibre of his being screamed 'yes!' There was a niggling doubt buried under all of his training, though, which suggested otherwise. True, the mongrel hadn't fought anyone, but her attitude gave the impression that she had a ruthless streak to her, something every assassin needed.

"Malik," Altair said suddenly. His friend looked at him.

"Yes, Altair?"

"Bring me the girl, please. I would like to speak to her."

* * *

The slap came from nowhere, striking Leilah hard across the cheek.

"Your bed empty this morning and no sign of you in the village; do you have any idea how worried I have been, child?" hissed Nahlah, grabbing Leilah by one arm and dragging her inside the house. "And look at you! You are filthy! What have you been doing?"

Before Leilah could reply, Nahlah pulled her daughter into a bone-crushing hug, holding her like she never wanted to let go. Eventually, however, she relaxed her grip and Leilah eased herself out of her mother's embrace.

"I saved an assassin's life," Leilah replied, rubbing the stinging side of her face. Nahlah's jaw dropped.

"You did _what?"_

Leilah recounted her tale to her mother. When she'd finished, Nahlah was speechless for a moment, before recovering with grace.

"Well," she sniffed, unable to hide her irritation mixed with pride. "While I am not...best pleased at your activities, this may earn Al Mualim's favour. Now get changed, girl. You are late enough for your duties as it is."

Leilah sighed inwardly and removed the bloodstained garments with difficulty. Her arms ached terribly from her ascent of Fool's Rock; it had been a wonder that she'd made it down from the cliff at all. She pulled her only other set of clothes on and then picked up her beige headscarf, sweeping her hair back after she'd removed all the twigs. Leilah covered her head with the scarf and then jumped as a sharp knocking sounded at the door.

Nahlah answered it and Leilah waited politely, straining to listen to what was being said. A mumbled male voice spoke a few words and Nahlah nodded before turning to her daughter.

"Leilah," she said, face pale. "Al Mualim wishes to speak with you."

Leilah blinked and then hurried towards the door when Nahlah frantically beckoned her. The assassin she had met that morning was stood there, arms folded, waiting.

"I have been ordered to take you to the fortress," he said, his tone suggesting he'd rather be doing anything else at that particular moment. "You are to come with me."

He spun on his heel and strode away without a backwards glance. Leilah hesitated only for a second, following only when Nahlah jabbed her in the back.

They walked in silence until they reached the looming fortress of Masyaf. Leilah had only ever been in its lower halls, the one place the younger, less physically pleasing servants were permitted to go. Older or beautiful women had access to the gardens and the living quarters of the brotherhood, either to clean with experience or to see to the assassins' 'needs', as it were.

While Leilah had always been curious to see the upper halls of the fortress – supposedly grand and exquisitely decorated – she was happy not to be comely enough for the assassins' tastes. She'd always had higher ambitions than the bed of a man.

Her frayed sandals slapped against the stone steps as she followed the assassin up towards the main entrance. They walked inside and Leilah felt her breath being taken away.

Books! So many books! She had never seen so many in one place before. And there weren't just books, but scrolls, inks, quills...the crafters of knowledge and it was all here. Leilah stopped dead in the centre of the main hall and stared around, her mouth hanging open. When she had finally managed to overcome her shock of all the amazing objects present, she noticed the decor. Incense drifted through the air in twisted trails, coiling with the slight breezes coming through the main door. Candles sat in rows at every window and available shelf, illuminating the stone and stretching the flicking shadows, and large candelabras were suspended from the ceiling. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles and feasts and rich-coloured, woven rugs covered sections of the floor.

It had been everything she'd imagined and more.

"Girl!" barked the assassin and Leilah snapped out of her daydream and scurried after him. They reached another set of stairs at the end of the room, which led to Al Mualim's seat of power.

"Master," the assassin said, gesturing his hand towards Leilah.

"Thank you, Abbas." The old assassin master sat at his desk, watching her with sharp eyes shrouded under his hood. "You may go."

Abbas nodded and left, leaving Leilah at Al Mualim's mercy. She had never seen him before, but he was different to what she had expected. Tales of the master portrayed him as a deadly and skilled assassin with unimaginable power and prowess. Men feared even the mention of his name, the stories said, and when he chose a target, he never failed to end their life.

All Leilah could see was an elderly, bearded man clad in black. She would not have suspected for a moment that he was the leader of a group of cold-blooded killers. Perhaps, she mused, that was why he was so dangerous. A thorn amongst roses?

For a long time he stared at her. No words were spoken. Leilah felt as though he was waiting for something, but didn't want to commit to anything until she was sure _what_.

"Good," the assassin master said eventually. He gave her a rare smile. "You are aware of your betters despite recent events. You do not let success control your actions. And I am most grateful that you tended to my pupil. More than likely your actions saved his life and you will be rewarded for it. But tell me, girl, why were you present at our lookout point? You are a villager, not an assassin. You should not have been aware of its existence."

"I was not," Leilah replied carefully. "I was not aware. I wanted to test myself by climbing Fool's Rock."

"Those warnings exist for the sole reason of keeping peasants away. Surely you knew you could have died?"

"I did."

"Then why attempt such a foolhardy act? What could you possibly gain from it?"

Leilah told him and then shifted uncomfortably as Al Mualim's eyes narrowed. He said nothing for a long time, but his eyes never left her. Unable to hold his piercing, hawk-like gaze, Leilah looked down at the floor, feeling her cheeks beginning to burn.

"No doubt you realise what a preposterous notion it is for a _woman_ to be an assassin." It was not a question, but a statement. Al Mualim stood up, walked around his desk, and then moved around Leilah in a circle, inspecting her. She kept still, not daring to cast a glance at his expression. She wanted to cling to her hopes for as long as possible.

He stepped back and leaned against his desk, stroking his chin. "Although you _could_ cover your face..."

Leilah bit her lip, not daring to breathe. Al Mualim noticed and chuckled.

"Speak, child. I give you permission."

"No one would suspect a girl of being an assassin," Leilah blurted out, picking up on what the assassin had uttered to himself. "If I keep my features hidden, who would dare accuse the brotherhood of accepting a woman?"

"This is true," Al Mualim agreed, giving a small nod. "And you would be able to go where my children would not without becoming suspect. This is highly irregular, though. It does not sit well with me, girl. You are a servant, not an assassin."

"Altair was no one before he was a killer," Leilah snapped, forgetting herself. She realised too late what she had said and blushed deeply, bowing her head. Al Mualim laughed.

"Do not believe all the rumours, girl. While it is true that Altair's father wanted his family separated from the assassins, their fates tied in with brotherhood's."

Leilah arched an eyebrow, intrigued by this piece of information. She decided not to press it, though, and instead waited for Al Mualim's judgement.

"I propose a compromise of sorts," the assassin master said as he returned to his seat. "It promises nothing, denies nothing; if you can find one of my assassins willing to train you, then you will be accepted into the brotherhood. Do you find that fair?"

Leilah's jaw dropped. She nodded frantically, before remembering herself.

"Yes, Master. Oh, thank you, Master. Thank you!"

"You may go now. Good luck."

Leilah bowed to him and then left, a spring in her step. Al Mualim watched her go. Women were easy to manipulate; there would not be a competent trainer in Masyaf that would take her on as a student if they valued their reputation. Either she would find a poor tutor and become bored or get herself killed, or she would find no one.

Women in the brotherhood? Ridiculous.

Certain of the outcome, Al Mualim smiled to himself and took a sip from his goblet of wine.

* * *

By the time Leilah had reached the servant halls, the girls had already been assigned their duties for the day. One look at Malik's face told her she was going to be cuffed across the head for her lateness. It wasn't exactly her fault, though, what with Altair that very morning and her audience with Al Mualim. She only hoped he would believe her—

"Seif!" Malik bellowed, finally spotting her. Leilah winced. Probably not.

"Master," she said when she had reached him. "I apologise for my lateness. I—"

"Save your excuses, girl," Malik snapped and Leilah fell silent. It was quite clear he was in a bad mood, and as it was well known he hated his current role in the brotherhood, it was best not to push his temper today. "This not good enough! How many times have you arrived behind everyone else? Too many. So, I have a special duty for you."

Leilah expected it would be kitchen duty again, probably for a week. Instead, it was something she would never have imagined.

"A brother was injured last night," Malik said carefully, looking at her straight in the eye. "I need someone to attend to him while he recovers."

"Yes, master," Leilah replied, suddenly curious. He was assigning her to Altair? Before she could contemplate this, Malik grabbed her arm and yanked her forwards.

"Do not answer me back!" he bellowed and then practically threw her out of the door. As she staggered outside and tripped over her own feet, Malik followed her. His face was like thunder and he slammed the door behind him before advancing on her.

Leilah covered her face, waiting for an attack that never came. Instead, Malik crouched down and offered her his hand.

"I am sorry for such behaviour, Seif, but I cannot show favouritism. I wanted to talk to you personally," he said, his tone grave. Leilah blinked at him and then slowly grasped his hand. In one swift movement, he pulled her straight to her feet and then let her dust herself down. "So I hope you can forgive me for that unexpected act."

"I do," Leilah replied, although in truth she was quite shaken.

"Good." Malik paused, seeming to have difficulty on what to say to her. "Altair...we have been friends for as long as I can remember; since we were children. I wish to say thank you for helping him last night. He also wants to speak to you himself and asked me to find you."

The assassin told her where to go and Leilah nodded. "You are most welcome. I will go see him now."

As she turned to leave, Malik caught her shoulder and turned her back to him.

"Seif...Leilah." He stopped and sighed. "Altair told me of your wishes. While I cannot claim to have the wisdom of a master, I think you will drive yourself to insanity with such unachievable fantasies. Go to Altair, but do not expect him to be your teacher."

Leilah nodded, a jolt in her stomach reflecting what she feared the most: she saved the life of an assassin...but if even that assassin would not tutor her, then who would?

* * *

_A/N: A rewrite of the rewrite to fit in with revealed canon of Altair's life in Assassin's Creed: Revelations. Also because I thought some of it sucked and needed replacing. Next chapter is new._

_Lance~_


	4. The Truth

**The Truth**

* * *

_The white mist, furling, creeping, gnawing at my mind._

_The white mist, darkening to grey, blooming to blue, corrupting to black._

_The white mist, with sketches and scattered lives to memories of time._

_And he waits for me._

_Oh, how I hope he waits for me._

* * *

Altair awoke from a haze, waves of pain and discomfort washing over him like an unwelcomed tide of misfortune. His mind turned with the darkness of the room, picking at stray threads of thought, trying to weave them together to make sense of the present. A moment passed and the assassin shifted, trying to remove himself from confusion. It was the sharp pain in his side - so much more precise than the vague ache that had greeted him when he awoke - that cleared his thoughts.

Recollections from the previous day broke through and Altair closed his eyes again, thinking about what Malik had said earlier. There had been an attack at the watch point...that much he remembered. He had been stabbed; injured...

His fingers crept towards the bandaged wound, gingerly exploring the fabric. Altair's mortality had become very apparent since the following day. How he had not bled to death in the wilderness was beyond him, but he preferred not to dwell on the matter. It was uncertain whether the rot would set in yet, but if it did, he would die slowly and painfully. Malik had assured him that the Wise Woman had tended to him; the chances of the injury becoming diseased were very small indeed.

And yet...

A knock at his door made him jump, and a slight hiss escaped his lips as his side burned. Opening his mouth to speak, but found his voice unresponsive. Altair cleared his throat and tried again.

"Come in."

* * *

Leilah pushed against the heavy door, wincing as it creaked loudly, and then recoiled slightly at the smell of stale air trapped in the room. There was only one point of light - a solitary candle in the farthest corner, twisting the deep black into long, flickering shadows. She squinted and spotted a figure in the gloom. "Altair?"

"Hardly an appropriate address for your betters."

Altair heard a snort of displeasure, and suddenly the candle moved. Leilah's features became highlighted by the eerie glow. The tales of her demonic nature - which Altair had always dismissed as superstitious nonsense - seemed undeniable now. Gaunt and pale, she looked more like a restless spirit than a being of flesh and blood now.

Leilah moved towards the bed and sat herself down on a pile of cushions, placing the candle on a small table. _He's probably enjoying me looking up to him_, she thought bitterly. Leilah had to smirk, though, when she saw him closing him closing his eyes in displeasure at the light.

"You saved my life," Leilah said after a slight pause, "and I saved yours. You are not my better, but my equal."

Altair snickered, before groaning in pain. "In that respect, yes, we are equal. But it does not change your position in life; you are but a servant, and a woman."

Leilah scowled, but said nothing. Altair took the moment to study her, noting her unusual, but plain features. Whoever her parents had been, they were clearly not of Altair's people. Leilah's somewhat rounded, slightly oval face was so unlike the narrow features of a typical Arab woman. Her lips were thin and wide, and her nose was short. The grey irises of her eyes were framed by arched eyebrows, and strands of her hair were poking out from underneath her headscarf. Altair remembered her distaste for covering her head.

"You may remove the scarf, if you wish."

Leilah hesitated, clearly surprised by this allowance. She raised her hands, eyeing the assassin with suspicion, and then removed the scarf with care. Her dark ash blonde hair tumbled down, just reaching her shoulders. It was uneven in length, as if it had been hacked off with little regard to how it looked, growing back a complete mess.

There was a long silence, in which Leilah looked down at the crumpled material in her hands, while Altair continued to stare at her. She was tempted to ask him about what Al Mualim had meant by his family being connected to the brotherhood...but her instincts told her the assassin would not wish to speak about it.

Leilah rocked back and forth, growing more uncomfortable by the second. The assassin took his steely gaze away from her, and she felt her body relax. Then Altair spoke.

"The table at the end of the room...go to it."

Standing up, Leilah glanced at him, confused, and then obeyed. The beautiful uniform of the assassins lay across the ornate desk, with finely crafted weapons nestled amongst the fabric. Her hand reached out automatically to touch it, but stopped itself as Leilah remembered her place. She withdrew it reluctantly and turned back to Altair, waiting for the next instruction.

"The dagger," Altair said with a nod, "pick it up."

Leilah did so, admiring it. Its curved blade had been cleaned and polished since Altair's return; she could see her reflection even in the low light. The few nicks and scratches present did not detract from the sharpness of the blade, or the quality of the metal. A curved sword was made for cleaving through flesh and bone; one hit from this dagger risked taking a man's hand clean off. Leilah's eyes drifted towards the handle, which was also metal, and in a graceful spiral design.

"What do you think of it?"

Leilah didn't seem to hear him. Her finger traced the edge of the blade gently, so as not to cut herself. Altair chuckled. He didn't need to hear an answer. Her blatant admiration said it all. He watched her in silence as she held the dagger as if it were a normal sword, and began to swish it awkwardly in the air. Altair almost laughed at the ridiculous air of concentration she had. Her technique was poor; she wanted to be an assassin?

There was a flash of memory - crawling through dirt and sand, beaten and almost broken. Then a saviour in the form of Rakin, a killer's arms comforting like his father's should have. The Brotherhood replacing his broken family, not laughing at his feeble attempts to train, not judging him for his beginnings...and praising him when he eventually began to learn. Loved...accepted...

Altair shook his head, pushing back the thoughts he worked so hard to repress. At the start, yes, he needed the others to help and guide him, but not anymore. He was no longer a child; he was strong.

The assassin forced his attention back to Leilah, who was still flailing her arms about, close to knocking his few possessions off their shelves.

"Girl," Altair said, before pausing. He didn't like the way the word felt on his tongue, at least when talking to Leilah. Leilah stopped, blushing that she had gotten so carried away. Altair tried again.

"Leilah," he said, feeling strange about using a servant's first name, "you are holding the blade wrong."

Leilah stared. He had used her name once before, when they had first met, but it had been an unusual situation at best. What reason did he have now?

Altair noted her expression and tried to push past the irregularity. "Hold it so that the curve of the dagger follows the shape of your arm. That way you can keep a firm grip when you block, and can slice out the throats of your enemies that much quicker."

Leilah did as instructed, and suddenly the dagger became almost natural to hold, like it had always belonged in her hand. She tried slash the air with it, but found it suddenly much more awkward and difficult. She looked at Altair with pleading eyes, silently begging him to help her. The assassin nodded patiently and began to teach.

* * *

Time flew for Leilah. There was only her, the blade, and Altair's voice guiding her through the movements. She could tell her wanted to be on his feet, demonstrating the stances and positions of the blade, but the moment he so much as tried to move, his features would contort in agony.

"Again!" said Altair, and Leilah began to move through the pattern he had been telling her about. The first three steps were performed without a hitch, but as she swung the dagger out in a shaky arc, the door opened and Malik stepped into the room. Leilah cried out, unable to stop her arm, sure she was about to hurt Malik. However, Malik calmly parried the attack, sending the blade into the open door instead, while Leilah staggered away.

"I see you have talked a great deal," he said to Altair with a raised eyebrow. Altair sighed.

"You may go." He stared deliberately at Leilah. She pulled the dagger out of the door and set it down on the uniform, before hurrying away out of the room. Malik shut the door after her and then leant against it, smirking at his friend.

"Wipe such glee from your face," Altair snapped. "She was swinging the blade around like a child with a stick. I preferred for her not to decapitate herself in my room."

"I see." Malik was still grinning. There was a pause. "And how was she after you told her how to do it properly?"

"Still sloppy. But she is untrained, so it is to be expected. I assumed she would grow bored of it quickly, but there was true interest and passion in her eyes. She listened well and did her best to follow my orders."

"Are you sure you are talking about the same girl?" Malik asked with a snort. Altair ignored the comment, trying to clear his thoughts. The opinion that a woman could not become an assassin still burned within him, but seeing Leilah train the way she had moments ago had dampened his resolve somewhat. Would it be so terrible for her to join them?

Malik tilted his head, noting Altair's deep concentration.

"I've known you too long, Altair." Malik said, folding his arms. "You're considering becoming her teacher, aren't you?"

It was pointless to lie to Malik. "I am."

"Normally I would argue with you about it, but I know you wouldn't listen. Make her your student if you want, Altair. Just don't be surprised if she dies within a week."

* * *

"I do not make a habit of visiting each individual child of mine, Altair, no matter how wounded they are. However, I have urgent business to discuss, and as you are unable to walk..."

The imposing old man towered over Altair's weakened form. This man, the only man he truly considered to be a father, could kill him in a heartbeat, if he so chose. He was his master, Al Mualim.

"Yes, master," Altair replied, ashamed to be seen so vulnerable and pathetic by his teacher. "But what brings you here?"

"There have been whispers; rumours about the servant girl. They say you aim to teach her and make her one of us."

"No." Altair was confused. It was no secret amongst the tutors that the Assassin Master had given Leilah permission to be trained. "I merely showed her a basic fighting pattern with a dagger. Nothing more."

Al Mualim seemed to relax somewhat. The younger assassin felt the need to continue.

"But did you not agree to her finding an instructor?"

"I did, child. But you must understand, no assassin would wish to teach her for the shame she would bring them. Any man that did would likely instructing her poorly. Either way, she shall give up or meet her end."

It felt like his blood had frozen in his veins. Altair looked at Al Mualim, his features betraying little while his mind raced. "Rejection...or death? That is what you have planned for her by allowing her..."

His voice trailed away as he noticed the Master's expression. Altair had been in his care since he was a child; why had he thought he could fool Al Mualim? But instead of sharp words, the Assassin Master merely sighed.

"Do what you wish in this matter, Altair. But try to make the right decision. For your own sake."

* * *

She had been practicing the pattern within Altair's room for two weeks now, repeating it over and over under his watchful eye. At first she had been bothered by the lack of praise; was she doing it right? Was he refusing to speak because she had displeased him? However, over time Leilah had learned that silence meant he had no comment; she was doing everything correctly. So she held the dagger poised, memorising each step, each arm movement, each position of the blade until it was etched into her mind.

Sometimes Malik would visit and sit and watch with his friend. At first his presence made her nervous, but he never commented or made any kind of judgement outwardly obvious, so she learnt to ignore him and focus on the dagger instead. There would be times where Malik would enter or leave without Leilah even noticing. When she mentioned this to Altair, he would scold her. Being aware of her surrounds was important, he would say, before sending her home.

"Leilah."

Leilah stopped, waiting for him to tell her what she was doing wrong.

"Why do you want to be an assassin?"

The question took her by surprise. "I have told you this before."

"No." He shifted, wincing, and fixed his piercing gaze on her. Leilah shivered. "You have told me you want to be one, but not the why. Why do you want to be an assassin? Power? Glory? Blood lust?"

She looked down at the weapon in her hand, and then seated herself at the foot of his bed, careful not to jolt him. Leilah turned the dagger over in her hands, trying to find the words to voice the tangled mess of reasons in her head. The jealousy of Altair screamed loudest of all, demanding all the attention. But as she closed her eyes and lowered herself into her thoughts, the understand of her jealousy surfaced. It was not a cause, but a symptom. Something was lurking deeper still, trying to evade her notice. Leilah plunged in after it.

The day in the village.

Altair.

_Night was setting in. Sand and dust whipped up in little whirlwinds across the empty mountain dwelling of Masyaf. The sun was setting fast, and shades of pinks, oranges, and yellows streaked the darkening sky, casting a golden glow across the land. A young child, no older than ten, was being held in the arms of an assassin on horseback. The assassin himself was a tall, broad man, with a wide jaw, a thin, jutting nose, sharp eyes, and wisps of dark, curly hair just visible under his hood. The horse, a sturdy bay, trotted by past a young, pale girl with short, blonde hair._

_"Leilah." The girl's mother, her polar opposite in appearance, appeared and tugged the child away from the animal. The rider seemed not to notice and continued on his way up towards the castle._

_"Who is that?" the little girl asked loudly, and her mother shushed her, clearly flustered._

_"That is a new recruit," she whispered to her daughter. "The lad is here to join the brotherhood, You must pay him great respect."_

_She looked for a moment at the now distant horse, chewing at her fingers, her grey eyes wide. Then she lost interest and skipped away from her mother towards a collection of stones she had been playing with._

"He was an outsider and they let him in." Leilah suddenly realised she had spoken aloud, and flushed at Altair's confused stare. But the truth would not leave her now. A day without the stares, the judgement, the wariness...a day where she was no different from anyone else, not worthy of their attention...it seemed like paradise. And in the brotherhood, everyone was hidden and obscured...in the eyes of the people, every assassin was equal.

"Well?"

"I..." Leilah took a deep breath. "There...there are many reasons for why I want to join you. A life of excitement and honour over scrubbing kitchen floors cannot be faulted. But it also it gives me an opportunity to do something great for others; the freedom to choose to do something great for others-"

"Spare me the rhetoric." Altair looked bored. "I did not ask you to tell me what you thought I wanted to hear. I desire the truth. Nothing mo-"

"I want to be the same as you," Leilah blurted out before Altair had even finished his sentence. "I want to fit in. I want to be like the others, and be able to walk through the village, not as 'the mongrel' or 'the demon', but as an assassin. Respected, feared, useful...accepted."

"You came to us for acceptance?" Altair asked, tempted to laugh.

"You did."

The assassin froze, his eyes narrowing, and for the briefest of moments, Leilah was certain he would have killed her there and then, had he been able. Instead, his fists clenched and his features twisted, turning him into something that looked barely human.

"I did not have a choice in the matter," he spat. "And acceptance was never an issue. All it took was the chance for me to prove my skill."

"Then give me the same chance." She tried to keep the pleading out of her tone, but her eyes betrayed her. Long silences had become usual for their conversation, so the current one did not bother her. Suddenly his angry expression changed to one of concern.

"Your hand," he said, leaning forwards without thinking and then groaning in agony as sharp pains shot through his body. Leilah looked down to see she had accidentally cut her hand while she had been turning the dagger over and over in her hands. She grabbed a section of her dress and cut off a strip of material with the blade, before trying to bind her hand and failing. She could not tend to herself one handed. Altair motioned for her to come closer, and snatched the fabric off her, wrapping her hand with surprising ease and quickness, before tying it tight.

"...Thank you," she said, unable to look him in the eye.

"You will be here by midday tomorrow," Altair replied, ignoring her thanks. He could not get Al Mualim's plan out of his head. Rejection or death, and not even a single chance to show her worth? He had been given the opportunity, against all odds...and so would she. "Sleep well, for you will need your energy for your first lesson tomorrow."

"...my first...you will teach me?"

Altair gave a curt nod, amused when the girl's face broke into a huge smile, though he was careful to hide it.

"Oh, thank you, master!"

Altair raised a weak arm and waved her away. She looked slightly confused by this, but stood up and left without another word, placing his dagger on the table as she went.

The assassin closed his eyes once the door had shut. He did not particularly care for her grievances or reasons. She was merely interesting; a chance to test his teaching abilities and perhaps sate his curiosity over such a peculiar creature as she. Yes, simply satisfying his curiosity...

Altair wasn't sure if he believed it.

* * *

_A/N: So it's been over a year since I've written for this story. In actual fact, the next chapter was completed not long after the previous, but before I could post it, my computer shut down and wiped the entire hard drive. Everything was lost. So I gave up for a while, unable to find the will to start again what I'd just finished._

_Now I'm back, and reading through the previous chapters, I've decided I hate how Leilah has turned out. She's a bit of a self important bitch, at least in my eyes. So I've gone back and edited the previous chapters, tweaking them a little to my satisfaction. There are no major changes, just the toning down of 'RAWR I WANNA BE AN ASSASSIN' attitude that Leilah has, so unless you want a refresh, there's no real need to go back and read again. Oh, and the canon that was revealed in Revelations conflicted with my plot somewhat, so I went back and edited the conflicts so that ZC is now compatible with the canon of Altair's time period._

_Anyway, here's to me not losing the will to write again. I hope to start producing more than one chapter a year._

_Lance~_


	5. Swords and Scarves

**Swords and Scarves**

Clang!

Leilah staggered, the aftershock of metal on metal shooting down through the sword and into her hands, causing her to nearly drop the blade. She barely had time to compose herself before the attacker was on her again. Each slow, deadly attack was blocked by a quick flick of her hand, the sheer force behind the heavy blows almost enough to knock her off her feet.

He was circling her now, like a rabid animal readying itself to deliver the killing strike to its prey's throat. Leilah tried to push away her fear and focus. Think! Altair's instructions flitted through her mind: watch for signs of movement, then counter. If the attacks are too heavy to manipulate, dodge them and use the moment to slip a blade between an attacker's ribs. Throw dust in his face to gain an advantage, or if desperate, a swift kick to the groin to incapacitate him.

He lunged again, interrupting Leilah's thoughts; she just had enough time to raise her dagger before the swords connected. Her lack of concentration cost her; she tripped over her own feet and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Dust flew up around her and she began to cough, her heart beat increasing as the attacker tried to strike her. Leilah quickly rolled out of the way, grabbing a handful of dirt as she did, and then flung it up in his face.

Scrambling to her feet, she winced as a pain shot through her ankle. She'd twisted it when she'd fallen; she was now at a severe disadvantage. The attacker, however, was hacking and coughing horribly, clearly in no position to fight back. Making her mind up quickly, Leilah hobbled forwards as fast as she could manage and brought the blade down. In an instant, the man snapped out of his act and parried, disarming her and delivering a quick jab to Leilah's face. She met the ground once more, and rolled to a sitting position, trying to scramble away from her advancing opponent. He pushed his foot to her chest, pinning her flat to the floor, and then held her own dagger to her neck.

Altair paused, staring into his student's eyes, and then nodded, stepping back and offering her a hand. She accepted it, and he gently pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she put weight on her sore ankle.

"That is enough for today." Altair sheathed both of the training weapons, which were about as deadly as a stick, and brushed the dirt off his robes. "You need to focus on your concentration more. Had you not daydreamed in the middle of a battle, you would not have hurt yourself."

"I was thinking about all the advice you had given to me, master," Leilah protested, "but could not decide which tactic to use. By the time I had decided which would be useful for the fight, you had attacked again."

"An assassin does not decide; he improvises. He knows. It is a skill that will come to you with years of training, hard work, and study. For the time being, we will focus more on your technique and speed. You are fast, but you could be faster. You also had difficulty supporting your blocks and deflections of my attacks; strength is a disadvantage for you here."

Altair fell into thought as he walked up towards the castle. Leilah automatically followed him, limping as she went. She had spent months and months in his room, practising the patterns and techniques of the dagger, learning how to wield it until it felt as natural to her as one of her own limbs. When Altair had become fit enough to stand and move without pain, he had shown her how to defend his attacks, guiding her carefully every step of the way. Today had been their first unscripted fight, when Altair had been permitted by the healers to become fully active again. It had been an eye opening experience, most certainly. Until now, Leilah had been sure she was learning the way of the assassins with ease. How arrogant she had been!

"I will never be as strong as a man," she said wistfully, feeling thoroughly disheartened.

"No, you will not," Altair agreed. "But we knew this from the start and decided to accept the challenge anyway. While your strength must be improved so that you can climb...perhaps..."

Her mentor fell into silence and stride slowed to a slow walk. Leilah was grateful for this; her ankle had been protesting at her attempts to keep up.

"...perhaps we can focus on your speed." Altair stopped and looked at her. "You are small and nimble, and you use the dagger well. With practise, you could dodge enemies with little difficulty and get around their attacks."

Leilah nodded, her spirits lifted slightly. The two continued their way back up to the castle, and as they approached, Leilah could see the others staring and whispering. A flush crept up her cheeks, and she moved closer to Altair, feeling protected from their scorn by his presence. As they passed through the doorway into the halls, he spoke again.

"I will be speaking to Al Mualim, requesting you receive you own room within the castle."

Leilah stopped dead, stunned. Her own room? She hadn't even told Nahlah yet that she had begun her training with the brotherhood, let alone move out of her mother's home. Her tutor raised an eyebrow at her surprise. "You were not expecting to have a place of your own within these walls?"

"I...no, it is just..." Leilah paused, not wanting to share that she had been keeping secrets from Nahlah. "...my mother. It is my mother. She will be saddened to see me go. It would be wise of me to warn her beforehand, just in case the Master agrees."

Leilah caught a glimpse of sorrow in Altair's eyes at the mention of Nahlah. Then it was gone; she wasn't even sure if it had been there at all. Perhaps she had imagined it?

Altair nodded. "Then go to her. You are excused."

* * *

It was the smell of home Leilah loved the most; food cooking over the open fire by the door outside, while indoors the air was thick with incense. She lingered for a moment by the cooking pot and then went inside settling herself on a woven rug Nahlah had made years ago. There was little furniture in the one-roomed house; beds and chairs were made out of cushions and shawls, with one cupboard for trinkets and spices. Nahlah, who had been sat in the corner darning some of Leilah's clothes, looked up and then let out a shriek.

"Your headscarf!" she cried, pointing a finger at her daughter. "Where is your headscarf?"

Leilah automatically patted the top of her head and then groaned. She'd forgotten to put it back on when her lesson had finished. Opening a little bag tied to a piece of rope at her waist, Leilah produced the scarf and quickly put it on. When she had finished, she noted that her mother had gone an angry shade of red, and was breathing deeply. "Such shame you bring to me!"

"I had no choice!" Leilah snapped, "It gets in the way of my training!"

Too late, she realised she had blurted the truth with no gentle warning. Leilah paused, waiting for the horrible reaction that was sure to follow.

"I do not care if it gets in the way! Allah forbid that you would walk around with your head uncovered!"

"But I...you know I have been with the assassins?"

"Heavens, child, do you think me simple? The whole village has been talking about it for months!"

Leilah was confused. "Then why did you not mention it?"

Nahlah put her needlework to one side and smiled kindly. "Leilah, you are my only daughter, and I love you unconditionally. I have raised you from birth, and if there is one thing I know, I know _you._ You are a passionate young woman and too headstrong for your own good...and you need time to act in the manner you think is best. Rushed decisions have always been your downfall. I knew you would tell me eventually, but it would be within your own time and for your own reasons."

Leilah a warm rush of love for her mother, and bowed her head slightly. "Yes, I do have a reason for my confession today, though I bear it with a heavy heart."

"Then speak, if you desire."

"I do not desire, but I must. My mentor, Altair, has informed me that he will be requesting I take up residence within the castle permanently. Whether it will be granted, I do not know...but I thought I should tell you early in case it is."

Nahlah's face fell and Leilah felt her stomach plummet. Her mother looked so crestfallen, but there was nothing she could do to comfort her. Nahlah stood up, so Leilah did the same, and allowed herself to be pulled into a fierce hug. "I always dismissed your wishes, Leilah, because I thought they could not happen. You proved me wrong, and for that, you cannot imagine how proud I am."

The two broke away. Leilah was shocked to see Nahlah crying, and watched with discomfort as her mother dabbed away her own tears. When Nahlah had calmed down, she held onto the pendant around her neck like she did when she was bothered by something, and her lips formed into a shaky smile.

"Come; we shall have no more talk of sadness and separate. Tonight is a night for celebration. Now help me with the cooking pot."

* * *

"If you feel she is worthy of residing here..." Al Mualim trailed away, clearly displeased by Altair's request. "...then I suppose she is permitted to do so."

Altair gave a slight bow. "Thank you, Master."

"However, that you would take it upon yourself to teach her should not, and _will not_, detract from your regular duties. The details for an assassination in Damascus are being finalised. When they are, you are the man I will be sending to perform the deed."

Altair glanced up, mid bow. "And my student? Who will instruct her in my absence?"

"Well," Al Mualim said with a smirk, "I suppose you will have to find another willing to teach her...though I suspect that will prove difficult, no?"

Altair said nothing, his thoughts buzzing wildly. He respected Al Mualim greatly; saw him as much more of a father than his own, Umar, had ever been. However, at that moment he felt nothing but annoyance towards the man. Interfering with the teaching of _his_ student? He decided not to give his Master the satisfaction of displaying his irritation. "I imagine I will find someone. The others have seen her fight; any fool can see she works and studies hard."

"Indeed. You may go."

Altair bowed again, turned on his heel, and left. He had an idea exactly who to ask...

"I am finally free of the girl after months of cheek and insolence, and you want me to _instruct_ her?"

It was the reaction Altair had expected. He placed a firm hand on Malik's shoulder. "It will only be for a few days at the most, and it will certainly be more interesting than overseeing servants, don't you think?"

Malik sighed and put a hand to his forehead. "She is the most stubborn, difficult girl I have ever met. Do not force me back into her company after I recently escaped it."

"Think of this as a chance to work the rage out of your system. You will be in the training ring after all."

Malik's eyes narrowed as he looked up sharply at Altair. "I take no pleasure in striking a woman, Altair."

"Nor should you," Altair agreed. "But this is not a case of man versus woman. It is instructor against student. And she has only ever seen you as a forced authority figure, not someone to be respected. Teach her what you know and fight with her; show her that you demand respect through skill alone and she will learn the errors of her ways...perhaps even taught some humility. It will be good for her. Besides, you have seen her when she practises with me. She is an attentive, passionate student, always wanting to perfect her technique and learn. That is more than what I can say for most initiates here."

"I..." Malik scowled and then sighed. "Fine. You make a compelling argument. I will teach her when you leave, and stop when you return. No more, no less. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly. Thank you, brother."

* * *

_Dodge, parry, block, duck, strike..._

"You are slacking! Again!"

_Dodge, parry, block, duck, strike..._

"Pick up the pace! Too slow! Do you want the enemy to serve you tea while you work out your next move?"

_Dodge, parry, block, duck, strike..._

"Your stance is wrong!" Altair brought his blade down hard, and smashed through Leilah's defence, knocking her to the ground. She spent a moment to reflect on how she seemed to spend most of her training on the floor, before Altair's sword was at her throat. Leilah sighed, and then allowed herself to be helped up.

"Master," she said, rubbing her elbow at the spot where she had fallen on it, "your attacks are too heavy. I cannot hope to block them."

"Do you think your opponents will attack lightly just for you?" he retorted. "They aim to kill you, Leilah. Besides, I am striking much lighter and slower than I normally would. You are simply too weak to repel the attacks. Your strength and speed will improve over time; then I will not have to be so easy on you."

He was holding back? Leilah felt despair sink in again. What chance did she have in a real fight if she couldn't defend herself again deliberately easy attacks? She voiced her concerns as such, and Altair sneered.

"I have been in the brotherhood for almost my entire life, Leilah. It has taken over a decade to reach the level I am at now. You have been training for three months. Did you think all the secrets of the assassins would be open to you immediately?"

"I...no." Leilah suddenly felt very silly. "Is there anything I can do to increase my strength outside of my lessons?"

"There is, but I would not have you do it." Altair passed her dagger back to her. "Now is the time for training. Any other time and you will overwork yourself, and then you will be no use to anyone. Now, again!"

Altair lunged, but this time, instead of blocking, Leilah skipped to the left, the action taking her by surprise as well as Altair. She hadn't planned it...it had just happened. "Good!" cried Altair, before attacking again. Leilah jumped back, but this time Altair was prepared for it and took an extra step forward himself, jabbing her quickly in the stomach. As she doubled over, an idea struck her and she quickly dropped to the ground and rolled away, before scrambling to her feet, clutching at her aching abdomen. His right side was now open, so she aimed fast and hard, elated at what she had done. The assassin, however, turned quickly and blocked, but only just. Leilah tensed herself and waited for her tutor's next move.

* * *

_A/N: I've split the original 5th chapter into two, adding extra material onto the next chapter. I feel it flows better that way. Woo._

_Lance~_


	6. A Mother's Love

**NOTE: Chapter 5 has been split into two chapters because I didn't think it was working well as just one. Any up-to-date readers will have read most of this already, but there is an additional section towards the end.**

* * *

**A Mother's Love**

"Good!" cried Altair, before attacking again. Leilah jumped back, but this time Altair was prepared for it and took an extra step forward himself, jabbing her quickly in the stomach. As she doubled over, an idea struck her and she quickly dropped to the ground and rolled away, before scrambling to her feet, clutching at her stomach. His right side was now open, so she aimed fast and hard, elated at what she had done. The assassin, however, turned quickly and blocked, but only just. Leilah tensed herself and waited for her tutor's next move. He pushed her blade away with his own, and then kicked out, trying to knock her over. With a flurry of movement, Leilah moved out of the way of the attack again, and then aimed a punch to her teacher's stomach.

Altair saw the attack from a mile away; she had, after all, been dodging around him several times now. A lesson on variation was most certainly in order. However, she was getting the hang of thinking on her feet, so he let her have her moment. The punch itself was stronger than he had been expecting, but still not enough to actually wind him. He gave a grunt of surprise anyway, for her sake, and then doubled over, before blocking her next attack.

"Excellent," he said, before disarming her with little effort and tossing the weapon away. "But one small victory does not win the battle. Always bear that in mind if you hope to survive."

Altair could see a small fire burning in her eyes; he had made the right choice. She had gained some hope, but by not letting her win had sealed the illusion of her hit. "When we've completed your dagger training, we will discuss disarms. I personally do not favour them myself; I prefer to give the enemy a fighting chance before I cut them down, but I will be bringing another in to teach you."

"Another?" Leilah was confused. "Why, master?"

"Al Mualim is preparing an assassination and wants me to be the one to do the deed. I have chosen Malik to be my replacement while I am away. He is a cautious assassin, but a brilliant tactician, even at his age. Disarms and counter attacks are his specialties."

"Malik?" Leilah gawked while Altair chuckled at her horror. She blinked, and then continued, "but surely our...past history will make teaching difficult?"

"Malik is wise beyond his years, Leilah, and teaching is one of his true talents. He is patient and thorough, if a little lenient with his punishments. Babysitting maids, however, is not something he enjoys, and thus has little love for any of you. Prove you are worthy to be his student, and all ill feelings between you will clear away."

"Yes, master."

"Good. Because you have no choice in the matter." Altair took the training dagger off her and beckoned for Leilah to follow him up to the castle. "I feel we are done for the day, and so can now give you some good news."

"Oh?" Leilah scurried after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. She looked up at him, curious.

"Al Mualim has given you permission to reside in the castle. Your things will be moved into your new home by tomorrow morning, before your lesson."

Leilah stared. She had been given approval, and so soon? There had to be a catch...or a reason. But she could not think of any. They walked in silence, Leilah struck dumb by the piece of news. Altair did not comment on it. He knew he the emotions she must be feeling right now; to be ripped away from familiarity was a painful action indeed.

Altair stopped at a door not far from the entrance, and touched it lightly. "This is it. Take a look."

Shaking slightly, Leilah brushed her fingers against it, feeling the texture of the wood at her skin. The door to her house was old and rickety; rotting slats held together with old, fraying rope. This was strong and thick, and flaunted a level of wealth that Leilah knew she would never achieve. She didn't like it. It was alien to her and made her feel uncomfortable. Taking a deep, Leilah grasped the handle and entered her room.

The door had not lied. Everything about her new room gave a sense of comfort and luxury. There were no gaping cracks in the walls, the rugs were not frayed, the cushions vibrant and plump. It was bigger than the entire of her house, and she even had a window to the outside world, the decorative frame letting in fresh air and rays of inviting natural light. There were stone shelves for possessions, and a desk for writing. In the corner, a beautiful wooden bookshelf stood empty, waiting to be filled. A small table nearest to her bed held a collection of candles, unused. Leilah hesitated at the doorway for a moment, and then went inside to inspect everything.

Altair followed her in and then wrinkled his nose. He had forgotten what the initiate rooms were like. Small and cramped, with the meanest amount of furniture, and second hand rugs and cushions, Altair had been grateful when he had been moved to his current room. Those that became full assassins were treated to rooms twice the size of this one, with quality furniture and decor. Altair glanced to Leilah to give her a look of understanding over the unfavourable living conditions she had been saddled with, and then stared in surprise. Her features reflected a look of pure wonder, as if she had just walked into a palace.

"Do...do you like it?" he ventured.

"It's beautiful, Altair," she whispered, her awe making her forget to address him properly. Altair rocked on his heels. It wasn't the norm for him to do this, but...

"Come, let us go to your home. We need to collect your things."

Her stomach dropped. He would see! He would see her house and how she lived, and he would look down on her for how poor she was. "No, Altair. I am fine, really. I-"

"Master," Altair corrected, although he was starting to realise he didn't care. "And there are to be no arguments. Lead the way."

Flushing deeply, she obeyed.

* * *

"Mother?" Leilah knocked carefully on the door. "Mother, are you there?"

Silence. She raised a hand to knock again, not wanting to just bringing Altair in with no warning, when the door was suddenly wrenched open.

"Allah forbid you open the door yourself, girl!" Nahlah snapped, before noticing Altair stood behind her daughter. She blushed, and then gave Leilah a look of death for not warning her of guests in advance. "Welcome to our home, assassin. There is not much room, but please come in and make yourself comfortable."

Leilah and Altair entered the tiny house, while Nahlah straightened her dress, looking flustered. She clutched at the pendant at her neck, and then forced a perfect hostess smile.

"Mother, this is Altair ibn La-Ahad, my tutor. Master, this is my mother, Nahlah Seif."

Altair gave a slight, respectful bow. "Al Mualim has given your daughter permission to reside in the castle. She will be living there from dawn."

"Altair offered to help me carry my things," Leilah added, not daring to catch her mother's eye. Both of them knew she owned very little.

"I see..." Nahlah's voice was blatantly laced with sorrow at the news. But she was a proud woman, and would most certainly not make a scene in front of a guest. "But you must stay for dinner before you go! Both of you!"

"While I thank you, that will not be nece-" Altair began, but Nahlah waved her hand to signal silence. To his utter amazement, he obeyed her. There was something about the woman that demanded obedience, which was probably a required trait to raise someone like Leilah single-handedly.

"Nonsense! You are our guest! Sit. Sit! I have a pot full of food and you shall not leave until you have been fed and watered!" She hurried outside without another word. Altair blinked while Leilah giggled.

"It's not so bad, is it?" she asked her tutor, seating herself. "Come, sit with me. Perhaps you will enjoy the company."

Accepting he had little choice in the matter, Altair sat.

* * *

The evening flew by. At first, the chatter between Leilah and Nahlah was guarded, clearly for Altair's benefit. But when he simply smiled at their worried glances towards him, the conversation became more natural. The assassin simply listened, the scenario as unusual to him as the room had been for Leilah. He had never known his mother, and his father, almost as little. A servant had been in charge of raising him, but he had been so young, that he barely remembered her, either.

After a time, he had been brought to the brotherhood, and his life had become one of training, and later murder. No time for family gatherings...or, indeed, no family to gather with. So Altair sat with Leilah and her mother, a strange emotion stirring within him as he ate wonderful, homemade food, and silently observed the love between a mother and a daughter. He also occasionally glanced about Leilah's home, finally understanding her reaction back at the castle. The place was a shack, and he felt somewhat embarrassed for forcing Leilah to bring him here when it was clear she did not want to.

Occasionally, a polite question was directed his way, and he would try his best to answer it in a friendly manner. The two women would listen with patient smiles, and then return to their own talk. Finally, the night came to an end, both Altair and Leilah stood up. He found that he was actually hesitant to leave.

"I won't be a moment," Leilah said, and fell into a corner of the room, scooping up the few items that lay there. "Okay...I'm ready to go."

_That is all she owns?_ Altair thought to himself. He took the possessions off her. "I will go ahead. Say your goodbyes to your mother." He turned to Nahlah. "Thank you for the meal, Madam Seif. I thoroughly enjoyed the evening...and the company."

"You are welcome anytime, Master Altair," Nahlah replied, clearly pleased by his praise. He gave a short bow, and then left.

Nahlah raised an eyebrow to her daughter. "If you play your cards right..."

"Mother, please," Leilah protested, her cheeks blazing red. Nahlah grinned, and then moved to the centre of the room, lifting back the rug. She pressed on one of the stone slabs until its edge was raised, and then pushed her fingers underneath it, moving it away so that a hole in the floor was revealed. Leilah had never seen this before, and watched with interest as her mother removed a small box. She opened it, and then looked at her daughter.

"There are many secrets in here, child. Things I will reveal to you when I feel the time is right. Most importantly, a letter." Nahlah picked up a scroll, showed it briefly, and then put it back in the box. "I cannot read it, and do not want to, but should anything ever happen to me, remember this place. Remember this box. Remember this letter. Take it to the Wise Woman, and she will translate it for you."

"Mother..."

Nahlah held up a hand, and Leilah fell silent. She watched with interest as her mother removed a beautiful piece of jewellery from the box, before shutting it and replacing it in its hole. When the slab was returned to its spot and the rug flat once more, Nahlah stood up and pressed the necklace into Leilah's hand. "It is your mother's...your real mother's, that is."

Leilah nodded. It had never been kept a secret from her that she was not Nahlah's natural child. She turned the piece over in her hands, intrigued. It was a cross pendant, one line longer than the other, and...

"Mother," she whispered. "This is gold!"

Nahlah nodded. "I wanted you to have it when you were old enough. Any younger and you could have had such a precious thing lost or stolen from you."

"But you could have sold it! Lived well for a year or more!"

"Yes, I could have."

Leilah's lip trembled. Then, for the first time since she was young, threw herself into her mother's embrace, crying.

* * *

Altair stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. For hours now he had been lying on his bed, desperately straining his mind, trying to provoke a memory to surface. The evening with Leilah and Nahlah had reopened an old wound that he had all but forgotten about. Now it was the only thought in his head, whirling endlessly, tormenting him. Rolling onto his side, Altair closed his eyes and tried to relax. His mother, he realised, wasn't important to him. She had died in childbirth. He didn't know what she looked like, or whether she had been a kind and gentle woman. Altair's father never spoke of her and had silenced his son's questions with a glare. It occurred to Altair now that perhaps his father resented him somewhat for the death of his mother. The assassin shifted to his other side, unable to get comfortable.

When Altair next opened his eyes, the world felt different. Larger. He looked down at himself to see that his uniform was gone, replaced with a simple green tunic that went down to his knees. The room, too, was different. Smaller, but brighter, the sun streaming through the window and lighting up all the carved wooden furniture.

"Altair?" a voiced called to him. It was as sweet as honey and filled him with warmth and comfort. He sat up and slid down off his bed, his small, sandaled feet making a slight _slap_ as they hit the stone floor.

"Coming, Aziz!" he cried, his voice high with excitement. Before he could run to voice, though, an exotic woman, with skin so dark it seemed black, swept into the room, her robes trailing behind her. She knelt down and scooped him into her arms, holding him close and nuzzling him.

"Fanyana," she cooed, rocking him slightly. "My Fanyana."

Altair snuggled into her embrace, not understanding the words she used for him, and not caring. In the distance, he could hear shouting; screams and the smashing of wood pottery. It didn't matter, so long as Aziz was here to protect him. The heat was rising now, being to prickle along his skin, trying to make him uncomfortable. But there was Aziz. Aziz would keep him safe-

* * *

"Altair?"

A bang at his door jolted him awake, and he tumbled from his bed, still clinging to the pillow wedged between his arms. He looked at it for a moment, pulled a face of bewilderment, and then tossed it aside before pulling himself up. Altair then strode over to the door and wrenched it open, causing the young assassin recruit to jump and cower in surprise.

"Altair," the messenger said with some force, clearly trying to counter his initial reaction, "Al Mualim wishes to see you. He desires for you to claim a life."

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for the hiatus. Uni work and all that, as well as my mum being extremely ill over Christmas. It's all good now, though, and once uni finishes on the 8th, will have more time for writing. Yay!_

**fanyana - little boy**


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